Basic Techniques
by Tsuchi
Summary: Gaara’s blank stare was more eloquent that his mouth had ever been, and Matsuri’s fell open in response. Temari was left to explain, of course. Temari minific.


Basic Techniques

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, though I really _really_ wish I did.

Matsuri, trying to teach him, very carefully tried – not quite successfully – to control her snickers when she found out: as powerful as Gaara was, he couldn't perform a simple transformation technique. There was a reason for that, one Temari remembered very well: their tutor, who had been teaching herself, Kankurou and Gaara at the same time despite their difference in ages, had offended Gaara with his tone of voice… so Gaara had fed him to the Sand. It was not the first death Temari witnessed, and it would most certainly not be the last.

But it was likely one of the most traumatic. She'd really liked Ganpau; he'd been their first tutor that had taken her seriously. He'd been the one to set her on the road to becoming a Wind Master, and had introduced Kankurou to puppetry.

After his death, their father hadn't gotten them another tutor. So though Temari and Kankurou had already learned them, and - with Gaara - learned and mastered complicated techniques that pulverized the enemy… their brother had never known how to disguise himself – not that he would ever need to, in or out of Wind Country – or how to replace himself with something else – again, not that he would need to – or how to create illusions of himself – once again.

And she and Kankurou had never taught him. Let the monster die for not knowing something he _could_ have learned… if he'd given Ganpau the chance.

Naturally, it was the first thing Matsuri brought up.

Gaara's blank stare was more eloquent that his mouth had ever been, and Matsuri's fell open in response. Temari was left to explain, of course.

Which meant, of course, that it was left to Temari to convince Gaara to take a break, when, sweating and shaking, his attempts to train in channelling chakra without resorting to Shukaku's power began to fail.

At that point, forcing back the demon that once had controlled him usually seemed to take more energy than he had, and Temari would inevitably freeze in her act of handing him a towel, or some fruit, or a bottle of water; watching and waiting for him to snap – to lose control _just this once_.

She would wait, frozen, while his eyes would bleed into black, and his pupils would twist and skew into a yellow four pointed star, and his lips would snarl, teeth lengthening _just so_.

And then Gaara would growl, forcing his head to look away, and when he'd reach out to take what she offered, his pupils would be their usual aqua-green, and his face would again show no emotion. And she'd smile, and touch his hand just a little more than was necessary, at least until he pulled away – it might have been her imagination that that was just a little later than necessary, as well.

And Kankurou would let the chakra fade from his fingertips and Matsuri would lift her hand from the jouhyou – much good though they might have done Temari.

When Gaara was ready to work again, he'd stand, clenching his fingers together again, and they'd watch while his hair slowly changed colour – from red to brown to a sandy dusky blonde to bright yellow and back again – and wonder just who he was trying to become, because every so often Shukaku would interfere, and whatever he was working on would bulge and become the strange blue streaked, grey-brown dirt colour that Temari, and Kankurou knew only too well.

But it was worth it. Because in a single day – far shorter a time than most took to master – an Uzumaki Naruto stood before them, albeit completely emotionlessly.

Kankurou burst into laughter, and briefly, Naruto's eyes flashed black.

Temari bit her lip, and stepped forward, because it always ended up being up to her to explain. "I don't think disguise will ever be your forte, Gaara."

Naruto's head tilted perhaps half a centimetre in question.

Temari held up a mirror. "Uzumaki Naruto – most of the world, in fact – will never have the kind of expressions you do."

Gaara shrugged, giving the mirror half glance, and then dispelling the technique. "It's only practice."

Walking home, through streets that the wind and sand had deserted for them, Temari touched a hand to Gaara's shoulder. He glanced at her, and she smiled. Not so long ago, the Sand wouldn't even let her walk this close to him. "Besides," she said. "Uzumaki Naruto isn't my brother, and he never will be," but would never answer his silent question.


End file.
